


They Say It's Your Birthday

by blankety blank (doll_revolution)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor, None - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 07:39:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doll_revolution/pseuds/blankety%20blank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A silly little snippet, for Aly on her birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Say It's Your Birthday

## They Say It's Your Birthday

by Blankety

Pet Fly and Paramount own these characters, and I do not. Make of that what you wish.  


Obviously, it's for Aly. But a 'thank you' to Gershwhen for the idea.

Something for Aly, which was supposed to have chocolate and old movies and the beach and a poodle. I did the best I could.

* * *

Jim? 

Yeah? 

Tell me again what we're doing? 

Oh, fuck off, Chief. 

No, really, tell me. 

Sandburg, I swear- 

Tell me! 

Fine. (sigh) It's your birthday, so we're going to do anything you want. 

Anything I want? 

Yes. 

Anything at all? 

God dammit, yes! I said yes! Yes, yes, yes YES! 

You don't need to snap my head off. I was just asking. 

Do NOT start with me, Chief. I am not in the mood. 

Oh, that's rich, Ellison! You're not in the mood? What about me? 

Sandburg, I don't- 

No, really. What about me? It's my birthday, we can do whatever I want. That's what you said, isn't it? Isn't it? 

(silence) 

**ISN'T IT?**

Yes, that's what I said. Look, I'm trying- 

Well, what I want is to see 'Bringing Up Baby' at the Oak Street. What I want is to have lunch outside, maybe by the marina. What I want- 

Sandburg. Shut up. Please. 

You know, Jim, I'm not going to. You know why? Because it's my birthday! 

Blair, please. 

I want chocolate-covered cheetos, God dammit! 

Chief. Ewww. That's just nasty. 

What do you mean, nasty? 

Nasty. Disgusting. Repulsive. Take your pick. 

Well, fuck you, Ellison! Do I say anything about your nasty food combinations? Huh? About your tuna and pickles? Or your peanut butter-bacon sandwiches? Or your- 

Death on toast. 

What? 

Death on toast. That's what you call the sandwiches. 'Why don't you have another serving of death, Jim?' That's what you say. 

Well, that's different. Do you have any IDEA of the cholesterol level of those things? Not to mention the nitrates and preservatives. 

I happen to like those sandwiches. 

Well, I happen to like chocolate-covered cheetos. But that's not the point, is it, Jim? 

It's not? 

No, you asshole, it's not! The point is that it's my birthday, you said we would do whatever I wanted, but I'm not going to get to do ANYTHING I wanted, am I? Am I? 

Sandburg, you're not suggesting I did this on purpose, are you? That you think this is some kind of plan? 

Hey! All I know is, you hate Cary Grant. 

Oh, for fuck's sake, Sandburg! 

I'm just saying, you really hate him. 

And you think this is my response? THIS is how I get out of seeing a movie? 

(silence) 

Sandburg? 

(silence) 

**SANDBURG!**

Oh, I suppose not. But it's not fair! I went to the Monster Truck Rally on YOUR birthday! 

Sandburg, I was going to go to the movie, I swear. 

Yeah, whatever. This just sucks, by the way. It's so fucking Batman. 

Batman? 

Jim, we're wrapped in chains and hanging upside-down from a hook. How else would you describe it? 

Oh. Batman works. 

Damn straight! What the hell is in that vat, anyway? Oil? 

I don't know. 

How can you NOT know, Jim? Smell it or look at it or something. 

Sandburg, the blood has been rushing to my head for over an hour. Nothing's working. 

Nothing? 

Nope. I'm offline. 

Oh. Well, it LOOKS like oil. Do you think it's oil? 

It could be a vat of shit for all I know! Nothing's working! 

(thrash thrash) God dammit to hell! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!! (thrash) 

Sandburg, stop it! 

I won't! (thrash) I'm not going to spend my God damned birthday (thrash) hanging upside-down over a vat of probable shit! 

Sandburg, stop moving! The chain, it's- 

(ARRRGGGHH!!!) (sploosh) 

Ah. Well. It's not shit. 

Nope. Not oil either. 

Seems to be...chocolate, Sandburg. 

So it does. 

We're covered in chocolate, Chief. 

And they wonder why I call you Sentinel. 

Sandburg? 

Yeah? 

There's one thing I want you to remember, okay? 

Okay. 

No matter what they tell you, always remember - I got you chocolate for your birthday. 

(silence) 

Jim? 

Yeah? 

You know, I hate you. I really, really hate you. 

Naw, you love me. Happy Birthday, Chief. 

Woohoo. 

* * *

End They Say It's Your Birthday by Blankety: blankstreet@hotmail.com

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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